Similar?
by Youhaveabadconnection
Summary: Neville Longbottom. Peter Pettigrew. Are they really so different? Or are there some similarities that can't be ignored? Or, do choices really make the person you become?


**So, this hit me as I was making lunch today, thanks to xitwa74 and their awesome one-shot, THE ONLY OPTION. So read, and enjoy! Remember, I own none of the characters, settings, or the awesomness that is These Small Hours by Rob Thomas.**

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Neville closed the book with an audible *_snap_*. He tossed it onto the small table at the foot of his chair. _The Second War: The True Heroes Within_ stared back at him, refusing to be daunted by his glare. The book had been collaboration by the Trio, and several other key players in the war; it carried no author. Inside were chapters on Severus Snape, Dobby, Griphook, Mr. Ollivander, _PotterWatch_, Sirius Black (though apparently Ron had been against it; _"he wouldn't have wanted to be called a hero,"_ had been the young mans argument), Peter Pettigrew, and himself, Neville Longbottom.

When he'd found out that there was an entire _chapter_ on him, while Fred, the Lupins, and the other deceased were all mentioned at the back of the book, he'd protested furiously to Hermione. She'd nearly given in when Harry had walked into the library at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and put his foot down. _"There was no way we could have won if you hadn't done what you did," Harry had said at the time. "People NEED to know what you did to help us; I don't want all the glory."_

Growing up, Neville had never understood why Harry had avoided large gatherings, preferring to keep a small group of friends who weren't affected by his fame (or notoriety at times). Now he did. When Parvati Patil had approached him a few months after everything had settled down, he'd nearly laughed at her. He wasn't interested in dating someone who only noticed him because of a desperate attempt to survive.

Besides, he mused, as a silvery sheet of hair descended around him, lips touching the top of his head, he'd already found the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. She moved around the wingback, and settled on the arm. Her wide eyes sparkled, and her skin glowed. She was slim enough that in the blouse she wore, a small bump had already started to show. Luna placed a hand on her husbands shoulder, and another on the hand that covered his child.

"Don't forget we have to go to the Potters; it's James' birthday party tonight. The present is already wrapped and sitting by the door." She kissed him softly, and left him with his muse.

He got ready, preoccupied. His mind was sitting on a chapter in that wretched book, a chapter written for the man who had truly killed Lily and James Potter.

Peter Pettigrew.

As he dressed, Neville's mind flitted through what the book had contained. He'd been unpopular, lucky to have the friends he did. Not very proficient at any type of magic, and usually the brunt of the jokes, truly underestimated.

He was, Neville realized, a great deal like himself. Neither had grown up with the greatest home life, and been outsiders in the school. They'd both been overlooked and underestimated. Neither had really been given a chance.

But, he understood, there was one major difference. Peter had made the wrong decisions, and Neville had found something much greater than any hurt anyone had ever inflicted upon him. He helped Luna into her cloak and they apparated from their home in Hogsmeade (who would have guessed that the shrieking shack would make such a wonderful home with a little love?) and apparated to London. Ginny opened the door, welcoming them into the warmth from the November chill. Ron and Hermione, George and Angelina, Percy and his fiancé, and Molly and Arthur were already in the sitting room. Bill and Victoire flooed in even as Neville removed his cloak. He watched the boisterous party from the doorway, smiling as Hermione, Ginny and Luna all shared their pregnancy stories and horrors. He stayed outside the group, content to watch the revelers.

Luna looked over to him, as they all settled down. She held out her hand to him, and he walked up to her to grasp it inside his. The look on her face reminded him of a song he'd heard at Ron and Hermione's wedding.

_All lives are made  
In these small hours  
These little wonders  
These twists and turns of fate  
Time falls away  
But these small hours  
These small hours  
Still remain_

He rubbed the silky skin on the back of her hand and watched her small smile, the one that was only meant for him.

_No,_ he realized. _Nothing similar at all._

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**A/N So there it is! That's all she wrote! Let me know what you think!**


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